Customer Service
by Befudle
Summary: "When you meet him, you're working. You knew who he was immediately, of course, you've seen him on TV and most of the monster's you've come to meet are want to talk about the gift that was the creation of Mettaton; but you're working." In which Mettaton maybe takes it personally that you aren't immediately head-over-heels with him the moment you meet. Very personally. As in "It
1. Chapter 1

When you meet him, you're working.

You knew who he was immediately, of course, you've seen him on TV and most of the monster's you've come to meet are want to talk about the _gift_ that was the creation of Mettaton; but you're working.

Well, you admit its pretty cool that he was the sole celebrity personality for the _entire_ Underground but, really, what's that mean to you? He's a person, like everyone else... And if you're being honest, you find him a little overbearing. Not that you know him _personally_ , but, y'know, you doubt one can fake those levels of flamboyancy. He's practically his own flamboyant ship. The S.S. Drama Queen.

Heheh.

Not to mention, being staff leader, you're the one your boss saddled with moving all of Mettaton's stage equipment. All of it. By yourself. You still have a microphone-shaped bruise on your ass and that was a full 24 hours ago.

Anyway, you're not nearly as entranced as _every single one of your co-workers._

Catty nearly causes you to drop the tray of champagne you were assembling as she dramatically hangs from your shoulder.

"He's, like, HERE!"

You politely remove her paws from your shoulder. "Yes, He is." was your lame reply.

Pulling her hair, she screams quietly. It sounds a bit like someone letting the air out of a balloon. Slowly. "How are you, like, NOT freaking out? I seriously, I like- I can't even. I can't!"

Shrugging, you hand her the tray of champagne, which she receives with stars in her eyes.

"Well, you better _can_ , because your area looks pretty thirsty."

"Are you kidding me? _I'm_ , like, pretty thirsty." she winks, nudging you with her free elbow.

With a groan, you fix her bow tie and nudge her out of the assembly area. "Yeah, well, deal with that when you're off the clock."

Giggling, she gives you another wink before rushing out into the dining area. You roll your eyes.

Unfortunately for you, Catty's fangirl-y tendencies were the least of your worries.

Your employer made quite a few sacrifices to get Mettaton here and, considering that "The Rat and the Wheel" isn't exactly "L'Oiseau Rare", it was fairly substantial. The first being that, for the week he would be performing at your humble workplace, was that he would be staying on site.

Which would have been fine, since you (and by "you" you do mean " _ **you**_ ". Your employer made darn sure that was understood.) would able to get lowered rate accommodations at the hotel next door, so long as Mr. Haus and his wife could have dinner for free a couple times that week, (and you walked their dog... and their cat. And also babysat their kids once or twice...).

However, after speaking with your employer, Mettaton politely refused your laboriously brokered deal and said he meant he would be _literally_ staying on site.

You still have to walk Mr. Haus' damn yappy dogs just for cancelling on them.

But that was all _fine!_ Sometimes performers have to change their arrangements and that was totally. Fine.

What _really_ ground your gears (heh) was the fact that, on top of him living here?

So do you.

You live in a tiny studio apartment 20 feet from the door and can hear the music blaring from his trailer right outside your window where the theater parkinglot merges with your appartment complex's.

Maybe you _do_ take it a little personally.

Luckily for the raw chicken you were slowly strangling/preparing, you hear a glass shatter in the dining room, followed by resounding gasps. Judging from the volume of the gasps, it sounds like whatever broke broke on something or some _one_ important.

Seems like it might be situation-diffusing time.

You arrive in the dining room and, not to your surprise, most of the room is clapping. You spare a brief moment to curse entitled pricks across the world before you realise that these people are, in fact, _not_ applauding a disiaster of dishware but a champagne tray seemingly hovering near an entranced Catty with eight glasses of champagne stacked neatly in a pyramid (for some reason).

No, wait, make it seven

Looking just below the tray, you find the source of the shatter.

"Darn! Seems I missed one!"

Just to your left, you find him standing there, somehow looking both smug and put out at the same. You have no idea how he manages that, but you resign yourself to future hours spent trying to recreate the expression in your bathroom mirror out of pure curiosity.

Now that you've noticed him, sassy hand on sassy hip and all, you notice his right arm extended impossibly far beyond the reach of a normal arm-length into the dining room and-

Oh that's why. Hovering tray theory debunked.

You shake your head without any real emotion and begin to make your way to the shattered glass that a starry-eyed Catty seems to be ignoring.

"Er- Hello, darling! I don't think we've met." Automatically, you turn. His expression is so that you've seen on too many a man in his 60's with conservative bumper stickers.

"Sorry, Sir, I'll be with you after I clean this up." is your ever-practiced reply, and you continue to the mess. You feel a little guilty for taking satisfaction from his startled expression.

As you approach, Catty's giddiness levels seem to rapidly increase. Once you arrive at the mess and feel a cold metal hand on your shoulder you realize why.

You turn to your tag-along and are greeted with a somewhat stilted yet still charming look that would probably be a lot less irritating if you were less irritated.

"Yes- Sorry, darling, I actually meant to introduce myself!" he suddenly looks a lot less awkward. "Well, you obviously know who _I_ am." he says with a flourish that lets you know hes used the exact same phrase a million times. You couldn't be less impressed if you tried. Which you might even have done if you were just a little more petty.

You put on your best "I am the waiter, programmed to serve" look in your arsenal of "Faces that definitely don't describe how you're feeling at that moment" and (while making eye-contact because you are a _badass_ ,) take the tray that his hyper-extended arm is still holding to the left of you and hold it poshly on the tips of your fingers.

"In fact, I _am_ aware, Sir, I'm the one who moved all your Equipment."

You hear Catty gasp behind you and, really, you cant blame her. You would _never_ talk back to a customer. Not in 10 Million years. Everyone knows. Your customer care is _legendary._

Luckily for you, Mettaton inst paying for _shit,_ now is he.

As satisfying as ever, his startled expression greets you, unable to read anything in your own. You give a smile you've given to many a no-tipper and hand off the tray to Catty before quickly collecting the (thankfully few) shards of broken glass and excuse yourself back to the kitchen. As you leave you hear a dull thud behind you and choose to ignore it; you had just realized how many eyes were on you and not even the goddamn apocalypse could stop you from retreating back to the kitchen.


	2. On AO3

Hey, so I've been having formatting error's on this site for some reason + reviews are messed up and in general I much prefer A03 so

I'm going to leave the first chapter up on this site, but if you want to read the rest of the story check it out here: archiveofourown works / 5617708.

Keep in mind I update this fic almost daily, so just because only the first chapter is here, doesn't mean that's all ive written.

Sorry for the huge inconvenience but gosh dang do i dislike ff

BIG thank-you's to Kicklash and PrimordialCake for bringing this to my attention, even though i could only see your reviews via email because ff is fricking awful

Thanks 3


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